


The Feast in His Embers

by what_alchemy



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, is there a warning for general hickiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:01:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_alchemy/pseuds/what_alchemy
Summary: A man slithers into the periphery of William’s life.
Relationships: William Gibson/Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	The Feast in His Embers

**Author's Note:**

> For the "almost kiss" square on my Terror bingo card. 
> 
> With thanks, as ever, to Jouissants.

A man slithers into the periphery of William’s life. William catches him in dribs and drabs, slipping around corners, disappearing below deck. Sometimes, William can feel eyes on him, and when he turns around there is naught but the suggestion of space where a man stood but moments before.

In William there is a curious hunger. It has always been with him, since he was a boy. It rollicks through his blood, hollows him out, leaves him half an empty, gnawed thing aching to be whole again. In younger days, he might find another ship’s boy, another midshipman to slake his need, but he is a petty officer now. The lieutenants’ eyes are on him, even if they search only for their next meal, their mended uniforms, their clean linens. Months into the journey and the press of his own fingers is as unsatisfying as the gruel they’re served in the mess.

Door knobs, table edges, ladder rope, poles and masts and handles of all kinds. He pushes his arse into them any chance he gets. Discreetly. He will drop something and bend over, or linger near any given feature of the ship’s architecture. Only when he is sure no eyes are on him. Only when there is too much bustle for anyone’s attentions to land on one inconsequential officers’ steward. Even if only for a touch. A moment. A breath.

The man is as a phantom. William is only sure he is real when he finally sees him in the mess hall, sat up straight before his meal, and looking straight at William with a challenge in his eye. Honeyed hair falls to his chin, and a smile is tucked into one corner of his mouth. When William’s feet draw him towards the empty chair opposite his own personal haunt, that smile unfurls for him like a sword from its sheath: proud and gleaming.

William has a fluttersome heart. 

“You’re the officers’ steward, aren’t you?” the man asks. “William Gibson?” His eyes are blue but William is warmed by them. Who looks upon him thus? The Lieutenants do not see him; they see only the tasks he performs. The other men are matey with each other, cordial enough to him, but he watches them budge up against each other, slap each other on the back, lean against one another in the cold and quiet while he remains alone. Apart. 

“Aye,” William says. “And you are…”

“Cornelius Hickey. The caulker’s mate. Have you any need for caulk, Mr. Gibson?” 

With that half smile, Mr. Hickey offers his hand over the table, and William shakes it. Small hands for a small man, but strong and warm. The pads of his fingers brush the delicate network of veins at William’s wrist. Mr. Hickey lets go as if reluctant.

“No, but perhaps Lieutenant Hodgson does,” William says. “I don’t like the look of the seal on his window.”

“Say no more, Gibson. I’ll see to it.” 

Cornelius gives him leave to call him by his Christian name. William gladly reciprocates. Cornelius asks to see his sleeping quarters, and hums appreciatively at the sight.

“It’s not much,” William says. “A bit of cloth for a door, and the second mate and second master close enough to kick in the night.” 

“It’s more than a hammock and the breath of forty men to send you swinging in it.”

William grins at him. His eyes glitter in the low light. He must look up to meet William’s eyes, but William is the one who feels as though he stands before a giant. 

“Perhaps you can seek promotion,” William says. “Get your own half slice of solitude.”

Cornelius reaches out and smooths down William’s collar. His fingers ghost over William’s pulse point.

“Perhaps,” he says. 

They are on the main deck watching the sun dip below the horizon. Its orange rays glitter over the waves as if reaching toward them. William knows they are heading into a long night, and he should savor the sight of it, the warmth of it, but Cornelius’s human warmth is seeping into his skin even through the layers of their uniforms, and Cornelius is speaking to him with so much animation, and Cornelius is laughing at his japes and looking at him sidelong, eyes half-lidded. Cornelius is full of mysteries William longs to unravel, and William’s mind is full of Cornelius, Cornelius, Cornelius.

William is mending Lieutenant Little’s uniform trousers when Cornelius slides into his cabin, out of breath and biting his lip.

“What is it?” William asks, sliding over on his berth to make room for him. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Cornelius says. “It’s silly.” His side is hot where it presses into William’s. William can feel the racing of his heart, the huff of his breath. William’s own hunger licks up his spine.

“It’s not,” William says, but Cornelius only grins at him, meets his gaze through the lashes of his half-lidded eye. 

“I have something for you,” Cornelius says. “And I couldn’t wait to give it to you.”

William sets his mending down in his lap and sits up. Cornelius’s smile has gone soft. He reaches over to take William’s hand and turns the palm up, into which he places a tiny muslin bag full of what feels like marbles. 

“What are they?” he asks.

“I brought them from Manchester,” Cornelius says. “I want you to have them.”

William opens the bag and finds a handful of boiled sweets. His face blooms with a smile, and when he looks into Cornelius’s eyes, he finds pride.

“Go on,” Cornelius says. 

William places one of the sweets in his mouth as Cornelius watches. Lemon bursts across his tongue like sunshine through thunderclouds.

Cornelius has an insatiable appetite for William’s innermost thoughts. Cornelius sees him--Cornelius _wishes_ to see him.

“Tell me,” Cornelius says, “what you long for.”

(Love.)

Or:

“What breaks your heart?”

(Loneliness.)

Or:

“Have you ever been with a girl?”

(Never liked the look of one.)

Or:

“Have you ever thought about a man?”

(Every day. Every moment.)

Or:

“What shames you, William?”

(All of this. All of me.)

Or:

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

These small intimacies. This feeling, a seed in his heart.

“Have you heard?” Cornelius’s breath curls out of him like gossamer and dissipates. He is nearly buzzing, toe to toe with William. If he pulls in a breath too sharply, William’s chin will collide with his nose. 

“Have I heard what?” William asks. 

“We’re almost there,” Cornelius says. “Everyone says so.”

“Where, Cornelius?”

“To the passage, William! We’ve nearly got it now!”

William laughs, and then Cornelius is throwing his arms around him. WIlliam’s eyes slide shut, and his blood thunders through him like Zeus in a fury. Cornelius sets his mouth just under William’s ear. His lips are warm where they catch on his skln.

“Meet me on the orlop deck after supper.”

The orlop deck is abandoned but for Cornelius sat atop some barrels. He is swinging his legs gently. His jacket is open, his shirt half unbuttoned. A smile spreads across his face when William arrives. William’s breath catches. His blood sings.

“Tell me, William,” Cornelius says. “Do you think of me, in that little cabin of yours? Do you spread your arse wide and wish I were there to fill it?”

“Cornelius…”

“It’s all right if you do.”

Cornelius shrugs from his jacket. He tips himself off the barrels and rises to his feet like a plume of smoke. His body is unspooling with each step. William throbs, low and dark.

“Yes,” William whispers. “God help me.”

Cornelius smirks. He trails his hands down the sides of William’s body until they rest on his hips, and William rises helplessly to the occasion. Cornelius’s thumbs slip just under the hem of his shirt, and the shock of the touch is like a brand on William’s skin. William trembles as Cornelius traces over the crests of his hips. William’s mouth goes wet. He would devour Cornelius, would swallow him whole. William is a low and crawling thing, a consuming fire, and Cornelius a feast in his embers. 

Cornelius tips his face up to William’s. His lips part. William breathes of his breath. William takes what was inside of Cornelius into himself. He lets his mouth fall open as he leans down. 

Cornelius pushes him away and spins him around. William stumbles in the tangle of his own feet and wheels about until he catches himself on the barrels. 

“There now,” Cornelius says, cupping William’s arse through his trousers. “We’re going to have a grand time, aren’t we?”


End file.
